


And It's Only You Who Can Tell Me Apart

by kbs_was_here



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Goth Rachel Berry, Skank Quinn Fabray
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 08:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbs_was_here/pseuds/kbs_was_here
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skank!Quinn and Goth!Rachel AU -- Prompted for the FaberryCon Fanfiction Fundraiser by Janine</p>
            </blockquote>





	And It's Only You Who Can Tell Me Apart

They interact, officially, for the first time outside of class, in the first floor bathroom across from the choir room.

Quinn Fabray doesn't like to think about fate. She likes free will and choices and determination. 

Like how right now, she's elected to not attend her Spanish review and is taking advantage of the broken smoke detector and an open window so she can smoke without freezing her ass off under the bleachers. When the door opens, she’s quick to flick her cigarette into the toilet and kick the silver handle with her booted foot. She peeks her head around the edge of the stall, to see a shorter girl walk through the doorway. Her hair is dark brown, with blue streaks running through it. Her shiny black lace-up boots reach almost all the way to her knees and above those, a pair of purple and black striped thigh highs meet the bottom of a black pleated skirt that’s adorned with way more zippers than necessary. Her white ruffled shirt is covered by a black blazer with purple elbow patches and around her neck is a black and purple choker. She looks like she’s auditioning to play a vampire in a music video.

Her name is Rachel Berry. Quinn knows that much.

“I can see you staring at me,” Rachel says. She hasn’t moved for one of the stalls, but she’s standing by the sink, inspecting her abundant eyeliner in the mirror.

“So?” Quinn steps out from around the stall, taking a moment to adjust the black and white striped beanie that contrasts with the bright pink hair sticking out from underneath it.

“It’s rude.”

Quinn’s used to people calling her rude or worse. Usually it makes her want to punch them. Or makes her want to tell the Mack to punch them. On this girl, though, it makes Quinn want to talk to her.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“Didn’t really feel like sitting on Miss Holliday’s rundown of her dating experience with one of the original American Gladiators.”

“There’s a sub in study hall today?” Quinn asks. Because that’s excellent news. It means she doesn’t have to show up, at all.

Rachel nods and turns around, facing Quinn in person instead of looking at her through the mirror. It’s only seconds, but it feels like minutes pass as she looks over Quinn’s own Doc Martens, her black tights, the black-but-it’s-so-faded-it’s-really-just-gray denim skirt, and the well-worn off-the-shoulder sweatshirt with the Kill Your TV screen print on the front.

Quinn crosses her arms. “What?”

“Just looking.”

“Thought it was rude to stare.”

“You don’t seem like you care much about etiquette.”

“Not really. Though my mother keeps trying to get me to be a fuckutaunte.” Quinn reaches into the pocket of her skirt for her eyeliner pencil and leans toward the mirror.

“A what?”

“The debs. They’re just a bunch of bitches. Like the Cheerios.”

“Didn’t you used to be one?”

“We don’t talk about that.”

“I do have to admire their ability.”

Quinn scoffs and almost drops the pencil. “Which ones? The debs’ ability to be a bunch of spoiled princesses or the Cheerios being able to do whatever Sylvester tells them to?”

Rachel shrugs. “Both, maybe.”

Quinn turns to face Rachel. “Are you serious?”

“I-I just think it takes something to be able to get up in front of everyone and perform like they do.”

“In some cases, I’m pretty sure they perform on their knees,” Quinn chides, stuffing the make-up back in her pocket. “If you’re so big on performance, why aren’t you in the glee club?”

Rachel stares at her boots. “I am.”

“How come I’ve never seen you sing with them?” Quinn prefers to duck out of most assemblies when she can, but the glee club is at least mildly entertaining.

“I do, I’m just in the back.”

“Oh.” Quinn’s hands bury themselves in her pockets they both just stand there, leaning against the sinks.

“I should probably go back to--”

“Wait.” Quinn pulls the pencil back out and reaches for Rachel’s hand. Rachel just watches as Quinn flips her palm upright and scribbles something on it. “If you like music, you should meet me there. Tonight. Six-thirty.”

“What is it?”

“Show up and find out.”

\--

Rachel’s right on time and Quinn isn’t sure if it’s something she likes or something that irritates her.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d actually show up,” Quinn says.

“It’s not like I had anything better to do. My dads are out of town and our DVR is broken.”

“Dads?”

“Gay dads.”

“Ah.” That sounds way more interesting than Quinn’s conservative upper middle class divorced parents. Rachel looks like she’s waiting for Quinn to say something else, but Quinn just nods toward the door of the building they’re standing in front of. “We should go in.”

They’re in a strip mall between a nail salon and a used bookstore. The space they’re about to enter is usually a bar, but tonight, like on every Tuesday, is a sign that says “all ages” and it states that the cover charge is five dollars. Quinn hands over a ten to the woman who’s drawing big black X’s on the hands of anyone without an ID and tells her she’s paying for two.

The woman takes a Sharpie and marks up the backs of Quinn’s hands, then Rachel’s. “If you’re signing up, make sure you’re on the list before seven. No exceptions.”

“What list?” Rachel asks Quinn as they move deeper into the space. There are only about twenty people inside, so there are plenty of open chairs placed in front of the small stage on the far side of the room.

“Open mic. Sometimes it sucks. Sometimes it doesn’t.”

“Do you sing?”

Quinn laughs. “No. I mean, I’ve done some stuff with my friend Sam, but it was just back up. He has aspirations. I don’t.”

“They why do you come so early if you’re not going to sign up?”

“To pre-game. C’mon.” Quinn grabs the lapel of Rachel’s jacket and tugs a little before letting go. She leads Rachel back to the alcove where the restrooms are located and pushes open the door to the women’s room. It’s just a single toilet and Quinn slides the barrel bolt into the locked position. “When it’s busier out there, they get pissed when you take too long in here.”

“I don’t really need to--”

“We’re not here for that.” Quinn opens her jacket and pulls a metal flask from her inside pocket. “Cocktail?”

Rachel eyes the flask and shakes her head. “I shouldn’t.”

“Whatever.” Quinn shrugs and takes a drink, but not without a wince.

“You make it look very appealing.”

“If Jacob Ben Israel shows up to do the Ballad of Bilbo Baggins, you’re going to wish you had some.”

“Do they really just let anyone perform?”

“If they’re on the list.”

“Before seven.”

Quinn nods and lifts the flask back up to her lips. It burns a little less, this time. And when she lowers it, Rachel’s holding her hand out. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Rachel sniffs the contents.

“It’s vodka.”

“Is it good?”

“It’s vodka.”

Rachel closes her eyes and tips the flask against her mouth. She coughs as soon as the drink hits her tongue and Quinn’s hit with a light spray of liquor.

“S-sorry,” Rachel chokes out.

“Don’t worry about it.” Quinn’s about to take the flask back, but Rachel tries for a second swig and, this time, it goes down. She still coughs after she swallows, but none of the booze ends up on Quinn.

“That’s terrible,” Rachel groans. Again, Quinn’s ready to take the drink back, but Rachel holds up her hand and drinks once more from it.

Finally, the metal container is pushed back into Quinn’s hand. “Are you going to be able to walk out of here?” But Quinn can tell from the weight of the flask that Rachel’s probably only had about a shot’s work.

“Are you?”

Quinn chuckles and takes another swallow before capping it off. “We should find a seat.”

“Wait.” Rachel produces a small, rattling tin of mini-Altoids from her jacket.

She’s prepared for anything. Quinn likes that. “Thanks.” She crunches on the mint as she unlocks the bathroom door. “Don’t worry, if there’s anyone waiting, they’ll just think we were making out.”

Rachel’s cheeks are a little flushed but Quinn doesn’t know if it’s from the comment or the alcohol.

They sit at a small table in the corner and Rachel spends about ten minutes fidgeting with her phone until she stands back up. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where--” But there’s no time to ask. Quinn just sits back and watches the room while she waits for Rachel to come back from wherever she’s gone. They still have ten minutes before the first act goes up. More people have filtered in, but the place is nowhere near packed. It usually isn’t, but there are usually a half dozen performers and maybe fifty people in the audience.

She orders a Sprite from the bar and, ever so carefully, she lowers the glass out of sight under the edge of the table and pours some of the remaining vodka into it. She's quick to tuck the flash away before anyone notices that she's behaving like the delinquent everyone assumes she is.

Rachel returns and sits back down, her chair bumping into Quinn’s as she does. "Do you come here often?"

Quinn laughs, thinking Rachel's making a joke, but then she's looking at her as if she actually wants to know how often Quinn frequents this establishment. "Yeah, I guess. It's something to do while I'm still stuck in this town." She swirls the straw around in her drink.

"Have you applied anywhere, yet?" 

It's senior year and this question has been asked so many damn times. Usually, it makes Quinn want to flip off the asker, but she doesn't mind so much answering it right now. "A couple places. Rutgers. UC Santa Cruz. Ohio State."

"That last one doesn't get you too far away from here."

"They actually have a really good women's studies program."

"Is that what you want to study? Women?"

Rachel asks the question so seriously, but Quinn can feel the smirk pulling upward on her lips. "Maybe."

The emcee takes the stage and announces that the open mic is about to begin. The first act is typical unimaginative acoustic drivel, but Rachel's watching, so Quinn decides not to heckle the kid on stage and makes use of the spiked soda in front of her. The second and third performers are okay, because they just do cover songs that don't totally suck. And then the emcee announces the fourth performer.

"Uh, looks like... Rachel Berrya." He looks at the sheet. "Oh. Berry. That's a star, not an A."

Quinn snaps her head to the side, looking at Rachel, who's already pushing her chair back. "Really?"

Rachel nods, though she looks like she might be rethinking it. Quinn slides the glass toward her and Rachel accepts it, though she makes a face when she first sips it, but once she realizes once she's been offered, she takes one more drink, then stands.

Quinn knows Rachel hasn't come prepared, because she didn't even know where they were meeting, but it looks she's quickly becoming acquainted with Brad, the piano accompanist.

"Hello," Rachel says, into the mic. She's a little close, so it squeals, but it dies out quickly.

A couple people laugh. Quinn squints through the dimly lit space, trying to single them out, but it's too hard to tell.

"My name is Rachel Berry and I'll be singing Creep by Radiohead." She gives a polite nod to Brad.

The song begins and, at first, Rachel's voice is soft and a little hard to hear, her hands in tight fists at her sides, but by the middle of the verse, she begins to gain momentum and her hands loosen up, and as she hits the chorus any nervousness she may have had seems to have disappeared as she grips the microphone. From the second verse on, she has the audience, Quinn included, totally enraptured. 

As the song winds to a close, Rachel smiles at the applause and almost bounces down the stage steps. Instead of heading back to the table, though, she walks straight for the bathroom.

Quinn doesn't know if that means she just needs a minute or if she's having post-traumatic stage fright or what, so she follows after her and when she reaches the closed door, she knocks on it. "Rachel?" She tries the handle and it's not locked, so she pushes it open. "You okay?"

Rachel's standing in front of the mirror, looking at herself. "I've never done that before. Well, I sing in my bedroom all the time. But not... in public, not like that."

"Well... you should. That was... that was better than anyone I've ever seen perform here. Hell, you're probably the best that stage has ever seen."

Rachel catches Quinn's eye in the mirror. "Really?"

"I don't know why they put you in the back in glee club because... you should be out front."

"Maybe." Rachel turns around to face Quinn. "You really think I'm that good?"

"I think you're great."

Rachel reaches for Quinn's jacket and she assumes she wants the flask, again. But she doesn't go for the pocket. She pulls Quinn close and lifts herself up on her toes to kiss her. Quinn's hands land on Rachel's hips, maybe to steady herself, maybe to keep Rachel right where she is because this might be unexpected, but it's certainly not unwanted. When Rachel lowers back down, Quinn head tips forward, resting against Rachel's.

"What was that for?"

"Nobody's told me I'm great, before."

"That's because other people are idiots. Seriously, that was incredible. You need to go kick that glee club's ass. Or... fuck them. Go solo." That earns Quinn another kiss. "And I really want to hear you sing, again."

"Like I said, I've never performed like that anywhere but here."

"And your bedroom." Quinn bites her lip as she looks down at Rachel. 

This is brand new but it already feels so familiar. Rachel, with her blue streaks and her black nail polish, seems to juxtapose just right with Quinn's shaggy pink hair and rough faded denim.

"Walk me home?" Rachel asks.

"Okay." Quinn slips her arm over Rachel's shoulders and pulls the bathroom door open. There are at least three people in line who just roll their eyes at them as they exit.

"I wonder if they think we were making out," Rachel says.

Quinn laughs. "Maybe we should just prove it."

She's really just kidding, but Rachel still must be buzzing from a combination of the vodka and the performance high, because she slips a hand behind Quinn's neck and pulls her down. Their lips press together and, this time, Rachel's tongue grazes Quinn's bottom lip. Quinn reacts by letting her mouth fall open, slightly, and meeting Rachel's tongue with hers. Rachel's fingers push up into pink hair and there's a tug, which only drives Quinn to kiss her harder and she's considering pushing Rachel up against the wall behind her, but in the hall someone clears their throat and it's enough to pull themselves off of each other. She doesn't want to get kicked out if this is somewhere Rachel wants to return to next week.

"I think you were supposed to be..." Rachel's a little breathless.

As is Quinn. "... Walking you home."

Rachel's hand finds Quinn's and their fingers easily slip together, tangling into a handhold. As they exit the venue, Rachel takes a slight lead and Quinn finds herself taking in the sight of boots, legs, and ass.

"Still rude to stare, Quinn."

"What are you, psychic?"

"Maybe a little."

Quinn tugs on Rachel's arm and slows them to a stop. "Okay, then what am I thinking?"

Rachel makes a show of placing her other hand over Quinn's face, like she's trying to read her mind. "You... hope you're about to get lucky."

Quinn pulls the hand away from her face and smirks. "Am I?"

Rachel smirks back and shrugs. "Maybe a little."

Maybe Quinn still isn't so sold on fate, but she can't deny that Rachel's presence is something bigger than herself. And whatever path they're on, Quinn's definitely willing to see where it leads.


End file.
